


Unused Blades

by IchiBri



Series: JMMonth2017 [7]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, a tiny bit of comfort, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: Jean is weighed down by the grief of Marco's death, but a kiss to a blade will set him free.JeanMarcoMonth2017 - Prompt Chains/Home





	Unused Blades

Heavy was the heart beating in Jean’s chest.  Never before had it weighed him down in such a piercing, aching way.  Never before did his shoulders feel the weight of the sky pressing upon them.  Never before did the hands upon his back trail upward to constrict his throat.

Only there were no hands.  Logically, he knew the shortness of breath and the closing of his throat was psychological – the byproduct of the grief coating his skin and seeping into his bones.  And yet, he swore fingers ghosted over the cords of his neck, prodding and squeezing with his every breath.

They looped chains around his throat, pulling the links tight until they chafed skin.  Metal wrapped around him like a snake.  It stuck to his body and pressed against his uniform, or maybe it was beneath the fabric with how its icy metal sent shivers through his limbs.

His fingers trembled around the reins, and he wondered how he managed to stay upright on the horse.  Even when the world pressed its weight upon him, Jean merely slumped forward.  He refused to fall.  He refused to let the chains pulling him toward the ground win the battle of tug-of-war.

Because a part of him feared the ground.  He feared the ashy piles of dust and bone – the remnants of flesh and flame.  What even happened to all the ash?  Did they toss it in the river?  Spread it over fields?  Dump it over the wall?

Jean didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  Could he still recall the face of his best friend if he knew Marco’s remains were discarded like trash?  Could he smile at the memories knowing titans trampled upon his ash?

The chains yanked at his shoulders.  Jean gritted his teeth as the links bored into him.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they cut him open, sliced him in three.  But he pushed back his shoulders and raised his chin.

Marco left nothing behind.  Soldiers didn’t exactly have a need for personal belongings, but Jean wished there had been something.  A photograph, a favorite childhood toy, a lucky rabbit’s foot, anything really.  Jean wasn’t picky.  He just wanted something more than what remained.

Ash and bones.  He couldn’t tell Marco’s from every other fallen soldier’s.  If he could, maybe he’d have collected it in an urn and placed Marco on the mantle above the fireplace.  Maybe he would’ve put some of Marco in a pouch to carry with him.  If he ever came across a meadow of wildflowers or a glittering lake outside the walls, he could spread Marco along the grass and banks.  Jean could’ve given Marco the view he deserved in the afterlife.

But all that remained were Marco’s unused blades.

The chain at Jean’s throat tightened as his fingers squeezed around the sword grip.

Jean fought for those few blades.  He snatched them before the recovery team could lay a single fingerprint upon their surface.  Unlike Marco’s bone and ash, Jean wouldn’t allow his blades to be tossed together with every other fallen comrade’s equipment.  He’d steal them before letting them be redistributed to random soldiers.

But thankfully, he didn’t have to commit the crime.  He tossed aside three of his blades and replaced them with Marco’s.

Even if only for the short time in which their edges remained sharp, Jean could have Marco by his side.  And when they dulled from battle, Jean would retire them to the mantle.

Jean raised the blade to his lips.  He pressed a kiss against the metal, and the pleasant coolness of the blade lingered upon his skin.  The sensation slowly spread through him like a ripple in a pond.  Its chill turned to a warmth of familiar hands.  The fingers caressed his skin, feathering along his jaw and down his neck.  Where they touched, the chains slackened until falling away completely.

And Jean could breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @ichibri on tumblr and twitter


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